


Likewise

by Modernise



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frenemies, Friends to Lovers, Guitar, Love/Hate, M/M, Music, Neighbours, Parkour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modernise/pseuds/Modernise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr and Malik initially despised each other due to their vast amount of differences. They eventually find a common interest which develops into a friendship, eventually leading to more. [FILL for Kink Meme]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perhaps Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [Kink Meme](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=10801774#cmt10801774) based off [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RlMyM7g5XxQ&feature=youtu.be) Swiss advertisement.

**"Hate the sin, love the sinner."**

"Shit," Altaïr murmured to himself. He got the chords all wrong again, and his fingers were in the wrong positions. He rearranged his fingers and strummed again. This time, the sound came out finer and a bit more clearer but it still needed work.

Altaïr huffed and looked back at the music sheets again.

Damn, how could he have been such an idiot? His fingers were supposed to start on C12, not F12; G8, not G15; B9, not B3; and F7, not C11. His E chord was perfectly fine, but how the hell had he managed to fuck up so terribly with all the other chords?

Altaïr shook his head and retried for what seemed the umpteenth time. He reread the sheet whilst placing his fingers on the correct chords.

The digits on the chords soon began moving the same time Altaïr's other hand began strumming the instrument's body with a guitar pick. Altaïr read the music sheet simultaneously and figured that he should probably stop trying to memorise the chords of a song he had barely known since his riffs were coming out perfect as opposed to the last time.

Altaïr was already nearing the guitar solo, which was always his favourite part of strumming out a song, when he heard a clamourous knock at his door followed by the ringing of a doorbell. He lost his focus and wound up botching his perfect streak, resulting in jumbled up chords which sounded terrible and nothing like the original song. Altaïr groaned and threw his head back. He closed his eyes and inhaled a breath, trying to calm himself before he turned into Hurricane Altaïr.

The doorbell rang again. Loud slamming and pounding against the door ensued promptly. Altaïr opened his eyes and damn who was that impatient mother fucker out there trying to demolish his door? He figured he might as well open the door before it broke from all the thumping. He also wanted to see the confounded bastard who caused him to lose focus and ruin his chords.

Altaïr stood up from the stool he was sitting on and briskly walked through the living room since those firm knocks on the door weren't ceasing. He reached the door and turned the doorknob without thinking.

Narrowed eyes glared back at him.

Oh, for fucks sake. As if it couldn't get any _worse_.

It was his neighbour. _That_ neighbour.

"Malik," Altaïr grunted.

"Altaïr," Malik spat out, equally as irritated in the others presence.

"What seems to be the problem now, hm?" Altaïr exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation.

Malik narrowed his eyes even more, as if that was even possible. He crossed his arms and sneered at Altaïr. "Not everyone appreciates your awful guitar riffs, Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad," snapped Malik.

"Likewise. Not everyone cares about your opinion, Mr. Al-Sayf," Altaïr retorted.

It was silent for a moment, and Altaïr knew that he had hit the right spot.

He watched Malik's face flush a crimson red. This always was Altaïr's favourite part: Getting Malik pissed. It entertained the living hell out of him, though he never did know why. Maybe it was the fact that Malik was just so damn amusing whenever he went livid with rage. Or mayhap it was because Altaïr loathed his neighbour with a fiery, burning passion.

It was probably both, anyway.

Malik's fists clenched and unclenched. His jaws ground together, lips twitching to lash out a noxious retort. The way Altaïr saw it, Malik's anger was actually quite endearing, probably enough to be considered cute or adorable... not. It really was quite hard to hate him wholeheartedly when Altaïr kept getting weird thoughts like those. He always dismissed them, only for them to pester and stick in the deepest, farthest depths of his brain, itching to get out.

"I am so fucking done with you," growled Malik.

Malik turned to walk away. Altaïr still stood by the doorframe, watching him stomp off. Once he was within a reasonable distance, Altaïr prepared himself to shout out a final voicing.

"The feeling is mutual."

Malik stopped walking and his figure trembled and shook with fury. Altaïr saw Malik's fists clench so hard the knuckles turned a blanch, white colour. However, he did not get the luxury of actually seeing Malik's ireful expression. Malik relaxed slightly and continued walking after that. Perhaps another day.

Altaïr watched till Malik had entered his own apartment.

The two exchanged a long, hard glare. Seconds turned to minutes, and Malik was the first to realise that he had better things to do than to have a staring contest with his most despised neighbour. He shut the door.

Altaïr spent about three seconds looking at the closed door before closing his as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fun Fact:** The song Altaïr was strumming were the chords to an actual song. You can look up the complete tabs to the song if you'd like; I obviously didn't list all of them ( _waaay_ too much to simply write out) since this isn't exactly a guitar playing tutorial ahah.
> 
> The song he was strumming is " _No One Knows_ " by Queens Of The Stone Age, one of my favourite songs. Guitar and drums in the song are just fucking awesome.


	2. Similitudes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik has a secret talent which nobody would ever expect from him.

**"I am alive like you, and I am standing beside you. Close your eyes and look around, you will see me in front of you."**

Malik was nearly finished. He had written all the information he knew. He reread his essay over and over again, elongating sentences and replacing short words with longer synonyms. Saving the document onto his tablet (as backup) and USB (which was slipped into his pocket), Malik quickly stepped out of his apartment. He fumbled in his pockets, searching for his keys.

Malik grunted and blindly groped within the pocket of his jeans. The keys were at the bottom of his pocket. He grabbed them and fished them out, using them to lock the door to his abode. He then placed them back into his pocket and started his walk to the elevator.

His essay was due not too long from now, so he decided that it would be best for him to print it out at a  _Kinkos_  or someplace similar to that. His professor didn't accept late work but, then again, which professor did?

The fact that he was able to finish that essay in such a short amount of time was truly a miracle. It really was hard to concentrate when his insufferable neighbour kept playing his stupid guitar so uproariously and  _horridly_. The Gods must have pitied Malik, for he heard no sounds coming from Altaïr's guitar.

Good, else he would have set the thing on fire.

Malik rolled his eyes and pressed the 'down' button for the elevator.

While waiting for the elevator to arrive, Malik wondered how much more peaceful his life would be if Altaïr wasn't in it. If it weren't for that one fool, Malik's life would be perfect. He'd be living the life. Albeit, in his eyes, anyone who had the blessing of not having Altaïr in their life was living the dream. Specifically Malik's dream. His dream of living in a world without Altaïr.

The elevator rang, indicating that its door had opened. Malik stepped inside and pushed the 'Lobby' button. He crossed his arms and waited for the doors to close. Within minutes, he was already in the Lobby of the apartment complex and soon out the door.

Since a  _Kinkos_  was only a couple of blocks away from Malik's apartment, he decided against driving his car. He'd rather just walk such short distances.

Malik climbed the brick wall surrounding his apartment in less than five seconds. He had climbed the thing at least a thousand times.

Alright, so maybe  _walking_  wasn't exactly the proper term for what Malik was going to do. Not many people knew this, but Malik was a zealous parkourer. He enjoyed it as a hobby and parkoured whenever he could. Malik figured that if he could walk to somewhere, he'd rather just parkour there instead.

He sprung off the brick wall and flawlessly landed atop another brick wall a couple metre's away without a scratch or injury. The last time he'd injured himself while parkouring was a couple months back. He broke one of his arms and had to wear a cast for a while, which he did not enjoy.

Malik sprinted across the brick wall, which was longer and wider than the last wall. He jumped off the wall once he spotted the familiar park, which was now conveniently barren. He didn't need people gawking at him. Safely landing on top of a bench, he then jumped on the railing between the two open-air stairs in the park and slid down on it. Eventually reaching the bottom and landing on his two feet, he ran towards the steel gate in the front of the park which was designed to allow pedestrians, wheelchairs, and bicycles access to the park, but to prevent the entering of motorbikes, motorcycles, and larger vehicles.

Malik grasped the steel railing of the gate with both his hands. As both his torso and legs were horizontal, nearly parallel to the ground, he lifted both his legs in the air. His right leg formed a 90° angle while his left leg was bent slightly (but not as much as his right leg). Malik twisted both his arms, still grasping the steel gate, successfully manœuvring himself over the steel gate. Malik landed on his two feet facing the steel gate. He removed his hands and swirled around.

He continued with his sprinting, never ceasing. Malik wiped the sweat forming and coalescing around his brow. He felt something cool, frosty hit his face repeatedly. Looking up, he realised that it was raining. Malik simply sighed and shrugged to himself. It explained the grey sky, at least.

He reached the property surrounding a tall, luxurious-looking building which was on an elevated piece of land. It was the hotel which Malik so often passed. Trees and shrubs dotted the vast property, and in the front of the hotel was a drive-through where taxis, buses, and cars could both drop-off or pick-up passengers, luggage, or both. Nobody was outside the hotel since it was raining. Apart from the cars, Malik was the only one outside. He didn't worry about the cars as greatly as pedestrians due to the fact that he couldn't feel their stares as much. They did have to drive away eventually, after all, so it wasn't as if they could watch  _forever_.

The rain began to fall harder, and Malik jumped onto the cement border of the grass which was adjacent to the hotel's property. It was probably there to prevent all the dirt beneath the grass from getting everywhere (especially during the rain, when it was most prone to becoming mud) and all over the sidewalk next to it. Since the property was more elevated than the sidewalk and areas surrounding it, there probably was a chance that it had happened before.

Slightly outstretching both arms to maintain his balance, Malik began running on the cement border. It was about one and a half metre's higher than the sidewalk next to him, so if, somehow, Malik did fall, he wouldn't be too injured.

The large trees near the cement border provided proper umbrage for Malik, so the rain did not wet him as much as it could have. By then, it was already pouring.

Albeit the trees did a good job of blocking out the falling water, Malik was still getting hit. His hair, shirt, and pants were sopping wet. His sneakers were covered in mud and water, and the outer sole was covered with a decent amount of shredded grass which he ran and stomped on. It was uncomfortable at best, but it felt quite good. It also helped cool him down and aided in moderating his perspiring; at that point, he couldn't tell the difference between his sweat and the rain water trailing down his face like a cataract.

Malik tilted his head down somewhat to prevent his face from getting hit by the pouring rain. He didn't know why he couldn't take some rainwater to his face and just lift his head up like any other normal being since its force only stung his face slightly, but he soon found himself regretting his decision when he slammed into a solid object headfirst.

Malik fell onto the sidewalk with a grunt. Pain seared through his limbs, but it was mild and after a few minutes of recuperating he was fine. When he lifted his head to perceive what in the unholy hell he had ran into, he was surprised to see none other than Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad staring back at him. Honestly, to say that he was merely  _surprised_  would be a huge understatement. Shocked, vexed, abashed, furious, bewildered, were all more appropriate words.

Altaïr's face was twisted into a sneer. "Watch where you're going,  _Al-Sayf_."

Malik immediately stood up, with his face reddened due to the comment. "I could tell you the  _same fucking thing_ ,  _Ibn-La'Ahad_."

"At least I know where I'm going and what I'm doing, unlike you." Altaïr crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Malik. "Besides, what the fuck were you doing, anyway?"

"I was doing this thing called  _parkour_. You probably wouldn't know since it's too much for your tiny, pea-sized brain to process."

Altaïr scoffed. " _That_  was supposed to be parkour? Looked more like an insecure octopus to me, with your arms swinging all around and head tilted down." Altaïr tried to mimic Malik by wildly swinging and wiggling his arms all around while looking down. "You can't even parkour fucking properly." Altaïr laughed.

Malik scoffed. "You clearly don't even know what the fuck parkour is." He rolled his eyes. "Tch. As if your dumb ass can."

Altaïr repeated his caricature of Malik.

Malik threw his hands in the air. "You fuckwad, I wasn't even running like that!"

"Alright, alright, princess, let's just say that you're right," Altaïr started.  _In which you're not, since you're never fucking right, regardless of what you or other people may say_ , thought Altaïr to himself.

"Don't fucking call me princess," growled Malik.

"Sure thing,  _princess_." Malik groaned audibly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Altaïr smirked and continued, "But that still doesn't explain why you were running with your head down low. I mean, who the fuck runs while looking at the floor?"

"A lot of people, actually."

"Sure, smart ass, that's why all those people wind up either injured or dead."

Malik eyed Altaïr with a questioning expression. "Wait, are you implying that you are concerned about my well-being?"

Altaïr's eyes widened at the accusation. "What? Hell no!"

Malik merely raised a brow.

"You can go bathe in honey and have a tea party with aggressive, wild bears for all I fucking care. I'll have you know that I don't have any fucks to bestow upon your undeserving ass."

"Well," announced Malik, "I'm glad that we're both on the same fucking page."

Altaïr nodded his head. Malik checked his water-proof watch, which wasn't affected by the rain, and finally became aware of the time. He perched himself upon the cement border which he had ran on and fell off of.

"I've got somewhere to be." Malik paused for half a second before starting to jog on the border. "Thanks for wasting my time. I hope you get hit by a fucking bus!" stated Malik with a great amount of gusto.

"I fucking hate you too, you worthless dickwad!" exclaimed Altaïr with an identical amount of enthusiasm.

Malik stuck out his middle finger. He was already quite a distance away from Altaïr. Altaïr wouldn't be able to hear him if he spoke with his normal voice, so he shouted, "Why don't you go do something you're actually good at, like fucking off."

Malik picked up his pace and began sprinting, since he was not interested in starting a comeback-war with the insufferable shithead.

**"Perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind."**

Altaïr was truly grateful for the fact that the raining had ceased, for that meant that he could slacken up the hoodie tightly covering his head. He didn't want any water to get on his face. Altaïr loosened his hoodie as he watched his saucily pesky neighbour run off as the sun came out in the stead. Truthfully, Altaïr was actually impressed and surprised with Malik's parkouring skills. He'd never expected such a studious, diligent person like Malik to be into such a dangerous thing.

Now that he thought of it, it did seem to suit Malik quite nicely since he was well built. For such a smart guy, Malik was extremely fit, albeit a bit short. But height didn't matter much in parkour; it was the skill, precision, and execution of the parkourer that mattered.

Altaïr had been watching Malik from a distance. Initially, he didn't realise that it was Malik, but when he did he couldn't help but feel jealous, amazed, surprised, and rather competitive. There were some parkour moves which Malik executed flawlessly, much better than Altaïr himself, and that said something since Altaïr was an avid parkourer. Though, at the same time, Altaïr was sure that he was much more better at other things in parkour than Malik.

But as for Malik's dumb ass retort which he shouted out to Altaïr while he was running away? Quite frankly, Altaïr  _longed_  to see the shocked, ashamed expression on Malik's face if he ever did tell Malik that he did just what Malik had told him while thinking about him the whole time. Hell, Altaïr would pay to see Malik's expression. So, if it made Malik fucking happy, Altaïr would jack off whilst Malik's face would be tattooed on his mind during the entire deed.

 _Not_.

How in the hell could Altaïr even entertain the mere  _thought_  of such an idea?

Seeing Malik shamefaced was perfectly fine, but the previous idea? One odd part of Altaïr actually attempted to encourage him to fulfil Malik's suggestion, but Altaïr ignored that peculiar part of himself.

Or at least he tried.

Because, when he thought of the rain and sweat trickling down Malik's face and body, he saw it more as a bonus instead of something that was normal and expected to occur during a rainstorm.

However, Altaïr wouldn't call it an infatuation. Fuck, it  _wasn't_  an infatuation. His neighbour  _wasn't_  cute. He  _didn't_  like him. Altaïr hated Malik. Yes, that's why Malik constantly plagued his thoughts. In Altaïr's eyes, Malik was a nerd and was terrible at everything. He couldn't be infatuated with  _that_  thing. He  _wouldn't be_ and  _wasn't_  infatuated. Nope, not at all.

Yet, that one strange part of Altaïr couldn't help but disagree at everything he had just determined.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter seemed strange, it was because I was listening to the entire album of _Humbug_ by Arctic Monkeys the entire time that I was writing this chapter. *Sheepish grin*
> 
> I hope it was good, though.
> 
> * _Note: I revised a couple of words so that their diction and lexicon would be a bit more suitable!_ *


	3. Proper Backflips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik's there for Altaïr, even when he least expects it.

**"I rather be your enemy than any friend you think I would be."**

Apart from frequent run-in interactions, they tried to keep contact with each other at a minimal.

Though their shoulders still brushed from time to time, Malik still rolled his eyes, Altaïr did not stop with his guitar, and both always seemed to be ready to snap at each other at any given moment. It seemed as though their encounter had never happened.

Yet even that did not stop the two from watching each other from afar, amazed and envious of each others skill.

It always was hatred and fear of humiliation that kept them from imparting compliments and queries.

But they had their own things to do, which had kept them occupied.

For the most part.

**"How is one to live if one doesn't want to die?"**

He could scale the building.

Tch.

Of course he could.

Altaïr could do anything he fucking wanted. He was half-way up, anyway.

He could have used the stairs, but that defeated the purpose.

Altaïr grunted and relocated his right hand into another crevice, shifting his feet and left hand to accompany the change. If he fell... well, he wouldn't fall. But if he fell, he'd basically be done. He rolled his eyes. As if he would.

He soon found himself atop the building within a matter of minutes. He knew he could do it. Altaïr was positive that Malik couldn't climb a building half as swiftly and efficiently as he could.

Altaïr groaned. "Why am I thinking about him?" said he to no one in particular. That did not help in terminating those thoughts, so Altaïr was forced to "think bad thoughts." Queen Elizabeth II in a swimsuit.

Altaïr frowned and nearly retched at the thought. John McCain in a swimsuit.

"Oh God, no," murmured Altaïr to himself, lifting his palms to cover his face. He was now appreciative of the building's secluded location, for nobody could witness him acting like a fool over _one guy_.

Altaïr blushed. What the hell had Malik done? He was a nerd, not worth any of Altaïr's time. Why'd he even give a fuck about that saucy little shit?

Altaïr detached his hands from his face and decided that practicing parkour atop the building would loosen up his mind a bit. At the time it seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

Backflips were something he enjoyed practicing a lot, _so why not practice some more?_ he reasoned.

The apex of the building was not entirely barren; there was a door which led to the stairs, along with random pipes which were scattered about.

Altaïr pretended that one of the pipes was a barrier, and that he had to backflip over it. He accepted the challenge. He stood facing away from the pipe before summoning all his strength to jump backwards, lifting his feet in the air and outstretching his arms.

He thought he'd make it.

Unfortunately, conceit got the best of him and he ended up miscalculating his flip. He put too much force into it, causing his feet to land on air instead of the roof. His face hit the edge of the building, and he'd have fallen ten stories had he not grabbed onto the building reflexively.

His arms hung onto the building's brim, feet dangling over the edge precariously while his face wept red.

"Shit," murmured Altaïr to himself.

This was an embarrassing way to die.

His energy was already wasted on the backflip, making it quite difficult to manœuvre himself back onto the building.

Just when he thought his day couldn't get shittier, his sneakers slipped off his feet.

"For fucks sake," grumbled Altaïr. He looked down to see where it landed, and of course, it had to land on a _person_. Not just any person, but his _neighbour_ , of _all_ people. Altaïr felt exultant in knowing that his shoe had hit Malik in the face.

Malik, however, felt differently. He yelped out Altaïr's name before disappearing inside the building.

Altaïr was now reconsidering the thought of dying by parkour being embarrassing. Being saved by his fucking neighbour was even more embarrassing. Hell, he'd rather just fall and die. Malik could go fuck off.

On cue, Malik burst out the door and ran to Altaïr.

"Grab my hands," he said, extending his arms.

Altaïr complied reluctantly. Malik grabbed the hands and pulled with all his might.

Altaïr had half expected Malik to fall and die _with_ him, but he'd underestimated the guy once again. He was stronger than he seemed.

When Altaïr was finally up on the building, although a bit wobbly, he decided to set things straight. "I didn't need your help. I could have saved myself."

Malik pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "You know what? You're right. I should have just left you to die, you ungrateful shit."

Altaïr stared at him. "And what the hell were you screaming my name for?"

Malik looked away and attempted to change the topic. "Your face is bleeding. We'll need to get you to an E.R."

Altaïr decided that he'd let the attempt slip. "Yeah, well it's nothing serious."

Malik looked back at Altaïr with a fire in his eyes. _Was he concerned?_

"Nothing serious? Altaïr, you have got to be shitting me. Look at yourself, you look like your face got its period." Altaïr touched his face and then looked at his hand. It was covered in blood. Malik continued, "Besides, what the fuck did you do to get yourself in this situation?"

Altaïr blushed, and was glad that the blood covered it up. "I was doing a backflip. Just a minor miscalculation."

Malik raised a brow. "Minor? Tch, looks like I'm going to have to teach you how to fucking backflip properly."

Altaïr looked at Malik and he hoped that he didn't seem very eager. "Teach me? Fine, then I'm going to have to teach you something too."

Malik crossed his arms. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really," Altaïr snapped.

"Fine," Malik said. "I teach you, you teach me."

"Deal," replied Altaïr. "Except you'll need to tell me what the hell you were doing around here. I thought it was pretty isolated till you showed up."

Malik scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I like to parkour around here. It's quiet and pretty segregated from human civilisation. I usually sequester myself here."

"Same here," mumbled Altaïr. The injuries were starting to kick in, and they hurt like a bitch. "Now let's go. I need to get my ass a doctor."

Malik accompanied him the entire way because he didn't want Altaïr to "drop dead from excess blood loss."

They didn't realise what hit them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ Hell yeah, fuckers finally warm up (slightly) towards each other. ♡


	4. Wall Gainers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik teaches Altaïr, and vice-versa.

**"If you've a lesson to teach me, I'm listening, ready to learn."**

Malik shook his head. Teaching Altaïr certainly was frustrating.

"No, you're supposed to bend your knees slightly," Malik murmured.

Altaïr followed his directions, bending his knees.

"Just... no. Backflip again," commanded Malik.

Altaïr groaned. "This is the ninth fucking time you—"

"Just fucking do it."

Altaïr rolled his eyes and backflipped.

 _Tch_ , thought Malik. _As if he's doing me a favour._

"There," said Altaïr. "That good enough for you?"

Malik shot Altaïr a glare. "No."

Altaïr threw his hands into the air. "Holy shit, Malik. It's my fucking turn to teach you something. I can't be backflipping forever."

Malik would have to agree with that statement... except he enjoyed teaching Altaïr.

Altaïr, however, didn't care whether his neighbour consented or not. "Alright, what's something you need some work on?"

Malik looked around. They were in that park again. Of course, there was no one around. Malik sat down on the bench near him. Altaïr followed suit. "I don't know. Wall gainers, I guess?"

Altaïr bit his lip. "Nah, I can't teach that."

Malik looked at him. "Oh? And why not?"

Altaïr looked aggravated. Why was it suddenly so hard for him to speak? "I can teach you the corkscrew."

Malik raised a brow. "Seems interesting, but no."

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to teach you?"

"Well," begun Malik. "Since you don't know how to do a wall gainer—"

"Hey," interrupted Altaïr, "I know how to do wall gainers."

"—I guess you could help me with safely jumping from large heights, since I'm a bit rusty."

Altaïr scoffed and stood up. "Really? That's so fucking easy."

Malik looked up at Altaïr. "Modesty, Altaïr."

Altaïr rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, I'm going to give you a demonstration." He began walking away and beckoned at Malik. "Follow me."

Malik stood up and walked alongside his neighbour.

 _What the fuck happened?_ thought Malik. _I thought I hated that guy._ He shook his head. _No, wait, I do hate that guy._

Altaïr's thoughts weren't any different.

The duo ended up reaching the open-air staircase in the park.

"Stay here. Don't follow me." Altaïr ran up the stairs.

Since the stairs led to elevated land, Malik was basically below Altaïr.

Altaïr intended on jumping and safely landing beside Malik, unscathed.

"Alright Mal, you might want to move the fuck over," shouted Altaïr.

Malik heard those words coming out his mouth, but they appeared to be unintelligable. His eyes widened. Had Altaïr just called him _Mal_? His brain seemed unable to process the information, so he did not move over.

Altaïr jumped immediately after those words were uttered.

One moment Malik was pondering, and then the next had him with a close-up of Altaïr's face. His eyes were so aurulent they might as well have been considered auriferous.

Malik felt Altaïr's breaths being puffed onto his cheeks and lips. Altaïr's sweat rained down upon his face. He wasn't going to lie to himself, but it actually felt quite pleasant.

Malik closed his eyes. Shit, he had not just thought that. He felt heat creeping into his face, and was unable to witness the same thing occurring to Altaïr.

In an instant, Altaïr was off him. Malik opened his eyes to see Altaïr facing away from him. Malik stood up and wiped his face with his forearm. Disgusting mutt.

Altaïr turned around. "Why didn't you fucking move over when I told you?" he seethed, face slightly pink. In reality, he was far from ungrateful. He secretly thanked Malik for not moving over.

Malik's eyes contracted. "I am not your whore. I could do whatever I want. I don't have to listen to you."

Altaïr rolled his eyes. "You're right. You're not my whore. You're actually my _princess_."

Malik folded his arms and scoffed. "Yeah, right. As if I'd want to be your— Hey, wait. What the fuck did you just say?"

Altaïr began stammering a serious of incoherent stutters. "I, uh." Altaïr paused and scratched his head. "You should actually be fucking thankful that I didn't break your neck. Because I could have." Altaïr knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he ever did that. ... Or maybe he would. He often found himself wishing that Malik would pack his bags and leave. But what was this, then?

"If you broke my neck my dead ass would haunt you for the rest of your Goddamn life," remarked Malik. He chose to ignore Altaïr's previous comment. Creepy shit.

Altaïr smirked. "Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, yeah," murmured Malik, waving an arm in the air displaying dismissal. "Can you help me corkscrew? I've changed my mind about the whole thing."

Altaïr shrugged. "Well, why the fuck not."

**"Forever ends alone."**

The event continued on for weeks. After two months, Altaïr and Malik got along far better than they used to. Their parkouring skills had increased a significant amount as well.

Yet those strange feelings they harboured for each other would not quit, and strengthened each following day. Both were equally confused with the entire thing.

But, in the end, their relationship _had_ strengthened.

Following three months, they knew that it was fondness and affection they were feeling.

Both were equally as reluctant to proclaim their emotions to each other.

But doubt was a pain too lonely to know that faith was his twin brother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick fucking update, I know. I wrote it in a minute or something. It's just that I intended on writing that awkward "shit-he's-on-top-of-me" moment last chapter (when Malik's tugging Altaïr off the building). Alas, it did not happen. So I implemented it into this one. Except that wasn't the point of this entire chapter either.
> 
> Hey, but in the next chapter(s), it should get better for them. And I'm sorry and completely understand if this fic is going too quick for anyone's liking; the thing is that I don't want to make this a 28473848394 chapter fic.


	5. Cicatrix Manet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A metrically written conversation between the duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a poem, and you don't have to read it (to understand what is happening/ what will happen); it's just them having a conversation or something. I think it's kinda cheesy but I just wanted to try a different approach. It's pretty short, so yeah.
> 
> The point of it was for readers to kind of know what they are, career-wise.

It's silent as I ask you,

"What exactly do you do?"

While you backflip and

Somersault, stance slightly askew

 

Sans the euphoria,

You stop to glare

"Architect major and interne."

As though I was aware

 

Yet your scowl inebriates

And I concede, "Alright, fine.

You can ask a question

To make up for mine."

 

A moment to ponder,

You ask the same

To be informed that

I am he who lacks a surname

 

A brow is raised,

"That wasn't my question."

And I groan because

He expects a confession

 

"But now that I think of it,

I am kind of curious,"

he says with faux interest

That can only be seen as spurious

 

"I am the Son of None,

My parents are gone.

They died in a crash."

And the topic vanished thereupon

 

An apology is murmured

But I didn't care

For I have learned

To cope with despair

 

So you did your thing

And I did mine

As the wind blew on

Whilst we corroded time

 

Eventually, you asked,

"Are you a student?"

And I'd answered, "Yeah."

Though I'm not exactly prudent

 

Curiosity scratches your insides,

I know because I can feel it

And you ask what I study

As I contemplate, "To lie or to submit?"

 

"Engineering since

I like to devise,

And it'd be a cool job,"

I candidly apprise

 

You nod, looking thoughtful

And had I not known you,

I'd have believed that

Love at first sight really was true

 

But what would it be

If lacking in mutuality?

The moon without the stars,

An idiosyncratic banality?

 

No, I surmise

For the desert goes on without rain

And though you can conceal with camouflage,

 _Cicatrix Manet_ , for the scar shall still remain

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not very clear, but they're parkouring together (I kinda want them to bond through it, making them parkour-buddies, I suppose one can say).


	6. Nothing is Without Flaws — Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr and Malik don't seem to mind each other after spending some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet lawd, I wrote everything and I meant for it to be one chapter, but then I split it into two (which I will upload when I am done with this). Apparently I have this type of logic where if I split it into two parts everything won't seem like it's happening so soon.
> 
> Oh, and there's also a lot of _The Smiths_ in here. And guitar-playing in general. God, what was I thinking?

**"But heaven knows I'm miserable now."**

Altaïr was not the type to play sappy ballads on his guitar whilst moping around (alright, no, so maybe the latter _was_ a bit accurate), but he could justify his actions. He need only say one word to vindicate it all: Malik.

His painstakingly vexatious yet bewitching, nerdy yet impeccably immaculate neighbour. Altaïr exhaled softly and shifted slightly against the stool he sat atop, his guitar resting on his lap. Malik seemed be occupying his thoughts a lot more than he formerly did, but Altaïr was past resenting him. Unless Malik was back talking to him. Then he just wanted to kiss Malik into taciturnity.

Altaïr scowled at nobody in particular, though he wished that he could just scowl at Malik for the rest of his life for doing this to him.

He lifted the guitar off his lap and spent a handful of minutes adjusting the tuning pegs. He knew that Malik would castigate his ears off, but Altaïr supposed that he'd just have to deal with it. It wasn't as though he was going to play a hard rock or metal song. Hell, it was a band that he barely even listened to: _Arctic Monkeys_.

He'd probably end up butchering the song since there was no music sheet before him, and he'd only heard the song a couple of times. It was too sappy and soft for his liking, but he felt a strange urge to play it, regardless of his opinion of the song.

He didn't have to look down at his guitar to know which chords to pluck.

He'd started out rather sloppy because, well, what would one expect? He rarely listened to the song and he did not have a music sheet in front of him. However, his tunes were smooth after practicing the intro a couple of times. The fifth time, the sound was nearly as good as the original. Nearly, for nothing is without flaws.

When he'd reached the verse of the song, he wanted to sing along, except there were a couple of problems preventing him from doing just that. The thing was that Altaïr did not know all of the lyrics, and he was not very fond of singing either. Sure, there were strange exceptions, such as this case, but it wasn't as though he wished to be a Disney Princess every day of the year, singing out all his emotions.

But, he'd try anyway, with the fragments of lyrics he'd managed to remember.

" _Lady, where's your love gone? I was looking but can't find it anywhere_. _They always offer when there's loads of love around_ , _but when you're short of some, it's nowhere to be found_." Altaïr hummed the lyrics he did not know.

" _He's in turmoil, as puzzled as can be_. _Just like me_."

Altaïr did not realise that he was actually tapping his feet to the beat.

" _Lady, where's your love gone?_ _It was the anti-septic to the sore, to hold you by the hand_. _Must be first, be in demand_. _How he longs for you to long for him once more_. _Just once more_." Altaïr licked his drying lips.

" _Her eyes went down and cut you up_. _And there's nothing like a dirty look from the one you want, or the one you've lost_."

He was nearing the peak of the song. A bead of sweat fell down his face. He didn't know why, but he could never seem to forget the last verse of the song.

" _An ache in your soul, is everybody's goal, to get what they can't have?_ _That's why you're after her and that's why she's after him, but saying it won't change a thing_. _And they'll realise that it won't change a thing_. _Realise that it won't change a thing_."

**"I might just die with a smile on my face after all."**

Malik released a breath he didn't realise he was holding. He was sitting down against the wall, head lolled back with both his knees adjoined and facing the sky. His arms rested on his knees while both his eyes were shut closed.

His legs slowly slid down so that both his legs were flat and parallel to the ground. He relocated his upper limbs, crossing his arms loosely so that it looked more like a bunched up pile of arms. Opening his eyes, he did so with a lazy grin on his face.

He never thought that hearing Altaïr _sing_ would be so refreshing. He had a nice voice. Well, he had a nice _everything_. But it was a first, and it was quite pleasant, though it seemed as though he didn't know what he was singing. Malik smiled softly. _Novice_.

**"I'm not sure I know what happiness means, but I look in your eyes and I know that it isn't there."**

Altaïr exhaled. The song had been completed. He raised his hand to wipe the sweat congregating around his brow; it was much more energy-consuming than it seemed. He was waiting for a livid Malik to appear and knock at the door so that Altaïr could have his fun, although Malik hadn't interrupted during the middle of the song, which was always when he'd intervene. It was annoying, but there was a pattern.

It wasn't that Altaïr solely played guitar to annoy Malik, for that was not the case. He loved his guitar and he enjoyed playing it. But an irate Malik was just the icing, and the immense satisfaction Altaïr felt after playing a song on his guitar was the cake.

Altaïr slung the guitar over his shoulder with its strap, standing up off the seat he was sitting on the entire time and allowing his legs to carry him around his apartment, expecting a wroth Malik to appear. He had no such luck. He never heard any knocks.

It was a weekday, and weekdays meant that Malik was (usually) in the comfort of his apartment, doing his thesis' or whatever it was that University student-interne's did. Since Altaïr hadn't heard a sound coming from Malik or his room, he deemed it fine and acceptable to go out and investigate. He grabbed the keys to his apartment and exited the room. He walked over to Malik's and knocked on the door a sixfold amount of times. It wasn't as though he was actually _concerned_ , for that could never be the case.

The door opened and Altaïr wasn't even aware of his relief.

"What seems to be the problem?" asked Malik in a bored tone, as though they'd rehearsed the scene a thousand times. The former hostility that'd permeated in his voice had now faded away, eroded by the meagre amount of time spent together. It was not a lot, but it was much more than they used to. They learned to deal with each other. Kind of.

Altaïr was doubtful as how to answer the query. "Uh, I just wanted to check to see if everything was OK."

Malik raised a brow. "And why would you need to do that? I'm in front of you right now, completely fine. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself; I'm not some senior citizen."

"Wow, I'm sorry for giving a fuck." Altaïr rolled his eyes. "There, that's one fuck wasted on you. I could have used it to give a fuck about something else."

Malik unfettered a breathy chuckle. "Sometimes I don't even understand you, Altaïr. This is one of those times."

Altaïr smirked. Malik did not seem annoyed. Mayhap he should just be honest. "No, actually I was expecting you to be bitching about my guitar-playing skills." Malik had an unamused and skeptical look on his face, causing Altaïr to quickly add, "It was to excersise my playing; I haven't practiced in a while," which was actually half-true, but also half-false since he also wanted to garner a reaction.

Malik sighed at that and had a curious look on his face. "What song was it?"

"'No Buses' by _Arctic Monkeys_. I personally don't like it a lot, I guess I was just in the mood," explained Altaïr. Malik looked at the guitar strapped over his back, and then at Altaïr.

"I... I'm actually kind of curious," started Malik. How the hell was he supposed to say that he wanted to hear Altaïr play a song on his guitar when Malik had been ratting him out all those months for even _having_ the thing? "Do you know _The Smiths_?"

Altaïr stared at Malik like a deer in headlights. "Yeah...?"

Malik groaned at that. "No you don't, you bullshitter." He stepped inside his apartment and beckoned at Altaïr. "Come inside, I'll show you."

Altaïr shrugged at that because _why the fuck not?_ He entered Malik's apartment.

**"The music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life."**

He hadn't really been expecting anything else. Malik's apartment was neat, organised, and tidy. The most prominent colours consisted of brown and pale cream, contrasting nicely alongside the healthy spurts of green the plants emitted within Malik's apartment. Altaïr thought it was OK, pretty decent; it was only alright since he wasn't used to things being orderly. Howbeit, he didn't spend too much time absorbing his environment since it wasn't like he was going to move into the damn place.

He absentmindedly followed Malik till he realised that Malik was walking into his bedroom. Was he invading his privacy? No, besides, since when did he care about that stuff? Or maybe he should just stand outside his bedroom...

"Altaïr. What the hell are you standing there for? I'm not going to rip your throat out," muttered Malik.

Altaïr saw how he was sitting on his bed, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop while his hands typed away. "I'm pretty sure you would have a couple months ago," he scoffed. Malik smirked. "Touché."

Altaïr walked into the room and sat down beside Malik.

"OK, I'm only going to show you a couple of songs. I find it pretty hard to hate _The Smiths_ , so I'm hoping you'll at least like _something_ ," elucidated Malik. Altaïr nodded at that and hummed in comprehension.

Malik went to YouTube, typed 'handsome devil the smiths' in the search bar, and hit Enter. He clicked on the first resulting video and the music incepted.

Altaïr sat there in silence because what else was he supposed to do? He had to listen to the song. The guitar was pretty good, though it had an old feel to it. Not entirely retro or vintage, but it did not seem modern either. "How old is this band?" asked Altaïr, music still playing in the background. Malik scowled at him as if to say 'How dare you interrupt _The Smiths_?' "They broke up before I was even born." Altaïr hummed. "Late Eighties, I'm assuming?" Malik nodded. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean anything, it's the music that counts. This is some pretty awesome shit."

Altaïr listened to the lyrics for a moment. "' _Let me get my hands on your mammary glands'_? ' _And let me get your head on the conjugal bed'_?" Altaïr quotes. "Wow. How kinky. But clever."

Malik clicked his tongue. "Hey, shut up. They have awesome lyrics, OK?"

Altaïr grins. "Mammary glands. Yeah, so clever."

The song ends. "Alright, since you didn't like it I guess you'll have to endure another song." Altaïr shrugs at that. "Fine, whatever you say, princess."

Malik scowls at him.

'girl afraid the smiths' he types into the search bar. Enter he hits ensuingly.

Clicking on the first video that shows up, Malik allows music to fill the air while the two sat in a comfortable silence. Well, it was comfortable up until the singing began.

_He never really looks at me, I give him every opportunity._

Malik subtly looks over at Altaïr.

_In the room downstairs, he sat and stared._

Fortunately, Altaïr does not notice since his eyes were plastered on the screen, employing his interest. _Like with everything else_ , thought Malik solemnly. " _Prudence never pays_ ," quotes Altaïr, forcing Malik to look away. " _And everything she wants costs money_ ," Malik finishes. "Poetic," smirks Altaïr. Malik shares a private smile with himself at that.

_But she doesn't even like me, and I know because she said so._

Altaïr didn't know why but he couldn't help averting his gaze to Malik's face. He was looking down, smiling to himself at something. Probably a joke that his friend had said five months ago or something. Altaïr just wished that he was the cause of that smile, not some dumb joke.

_I'll never make that mistake again._

And with that, the song ended. "It's not my type of guitar. But I guess that it does take skill to play that good. It's OK." Altaïr critiqued. Malik groaned at that. "When am I going to find a song you'll like by _The Smiths_? They're the only good band on this planet." Altaïr wished to voice his dissent, but he knew that he would not emerge as the victor; it'd probably lead to a verbose quarrel and end with a tie.

Malik repeated the previous steps, instead searching up 'nowhere fast the smiths'

When he clicked the first video Altaïr started snickering after the first lyric was sung.

_I'd like to drop my trousers to the world._

"What the hell?" he chuckled, running his hand against his face. Malik wished it had been his hand in the stead.

But of course, Altaïr reacted even more wildly when a modified version of the lyric appeared later on in the song. " _I'd like to drop my trousers to the Queen, every sensible child will know what this means_ ," quoted Altaïr, snorting childishly halfway. Malik never knew Altaïr could be so infantile. "What did the Queen do to him? And which Queen is he even talking about?"

Malik groaned and rolled his eyes. "It's not like that's the only thing he's singing about so just shut up and enjoy the song."

Altaïr smirked but stayed quiet nonetheless.

When the song ended, it was followed up by 'this charming man the smiths'

Out of all the songs he'd listened to by _The Smiths_ so far, Altaïr thought that 'This Charming Man' was the most Eighties-sounding. It was probably the distinctive guitars and the music video. Alright, definitely the music video.

" _He knows so much about these things_ ," Altaïr quoted. "Yeah, you know so much about _The Smiths_."

Malik feels his face heating up after realising what he said. "They don't mean it _that_ way, you imbecile." He face-palms himself and buries his face within his hands, hoping Altaïr wouldn't notice at all. Which he did, resulting in another quote, " _It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care_." As if Malik couldn't get anymore red. Damn that stupid trifler. He obviously did not mean his words at all, but that did not stop Malik from blushing at them. "Kindly shut the fuck up and stop quoting them," mumbled Malik, trying to prevent his face from heating up even more than it already was.

"Sure, princess," and Malik could practically feel the complacent smirk eradiating off Altaïr's face in waves. "Don't call me that." Altaïr said nothing to that and only outstretched a hand to pat Malik on the shoulder in an easing gesture of 'Chillax'. It felt a lot more intimate than it should have, but Altaïr's lingering hand was to blame for that. Altaïr wasn't complaining, and Malik sure as hell wasn't either.

 


	7. Nothing is Without Flaws — Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the previous chapter. In which things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of this huge thingy I wrote (split it into chapter 6 & 7) which was supposed to be uploaded days ago. There will be puns (made on Altaïr's part). Terrible ones. And song quoting by the character's.
> 
> But I never knew I could be this cheesy. Like shit.

**"Sing me to sleep, I don't want to wake up on my own anymore."**

After showing Altaïr every single _The Smiths_ song he knew, including 'Pretty Girls Make Graves', 'The Boy With The Thorn In The Side', 'You've Got Everything Now', 'This Night Has Opened My Eyes', 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now', 'What Difference Does It Make?', and more, Altaïr still did not like one song by them and Malik still did not know how to approach Altaïr. Altaïr had completely forgotten why he was invited into Malik's apartment in the first place, but he could have cared less.

They found themselves sitting cross-legged on Malik's bed. Altaïr played random chords on his guitar while Malik fiddled with his bed's comforter. He had been contemplating for the past fifteen minutes and was hoping that Altaïr had forgotten all the times he'd berated him for playing the guitar, but then here Altaïr was, playing his guitar right next to Malik inside his room like it was an everyday occurrence.

Five additional minutes of tranquil repose sparked off Malik's spontaneous act of boldness, having decided _to hell with it_. "Hey, Altaïr," begun Malik. Altaïr hummed, keeping his eyes on his guitar. "Would you..." Malik hesitated slightly. He didn't want to sound hypocritical, and he didn't know why he wanted to hear Altaïr play a song so badly, but he just did. Ever since he heard Altaïr singing he'd been thinking nothing else but _Amen_ to his voice. "Would you mind playing me a song?" Altaïr stopped what he was doing and looked up. "Huh?"

"Play me a song," said Malik, trying his best at deadpanning the sentence.

Altaïr looked at him unbelievingly. Malik sighed. "Don't do that. Is it so much to just play one song?" Altaïr's brows furrowed. "No, it's just that..." Altaïr trailed off.

"Just that what?" questioned Malik.

"I thought you hated me playing the guitar," Altaïr admitted.

Malik nodded. "I do," he said. Altaïr looked at him disbelievingly. "But I don't hate _all_ the songs you play," Malik finished.

Altaïr looked at Malik. He seemed candid, but this was something that he was not aware of at all. Perhaps it was a good sign. "Which song would you have me play?" Altaïr enquired.

Malik hummed to himself and pondered over which song he wanted Altaïr to stroke out on his guitar. He looked up as if the answer would be written on the ceiling in a gilded Comic Sans font. He then remembered that there was one song he didn't show to Altaïr which he liked. Altaïr probably wouldn't like it, but oh well. It's only one song, even if Altaïr is technically 'doing him a favour.'

"Hold on," said Malik as he Googled the music sheet to the song. He found guitar tabs to the song and showed it to Altaïr. "This song."

Altaïr peered at the sheet, then nodded. He tuned his guitar and began strumming the chords. Altaïr found the tune incredibly sappy, but Malik seemed to like it since he hummed along. Altaïr appreciated the song more after Malik began humming. "Why don't you sing along?" suggested Altaïr after continuing to hearken to a couple more seconds of his humming. Malik opened his mouth to retort to that, but nothing came out. "You know the lyrics, right?" Malik nodded to that. "Then just sing. I won't care... unless you sing really shitty. Then I'll be forced to bang you with my guitar." Malik's eyes widened at that, and Altaïr paused his strumming only to do his best impression of a choking tomato. "Jesus Christ, no, that's not what I mean. I meant it the other way, I swear!"

Malik pinched the bridge of his nose while shaking his head. "How would that make it any better?"

Altaïr huffed. "I don't know, but just deal with it."

"Alright, alright," said Malik, ceasing his movement. "I'll do it if you keep playing."

A grin materialised upon Altaïr's face. "Deal," as he continued where he left off.

" _The note I wrote as she read, she said,_ ' _Has the Perrier gone straight to my head, or is life sick and cruel, instead?_ '" Malik's voice wavered with uncertainty, but Altaïr smirked at him and he knew that he must have been doing something right. He proceeded forth.

" _I won't share you, no_. _I won't share you with the drive and the dreams inside, this is my time_." Altaïr glanced at Malik, then went back to looking at his guitar.

" _Life tends to come and go_. _That's OK_. _As long as you know life tends to come and go, as long as you know_ ," Malik repeated the last word as in the song a couple of times before moving on. " _I won't share you, no_. _I won't share you with the drive and the dreams inside, this is my time_." When he thought Malik wasn't looking, Altaïr would watch him. Usually out of the corner of his eye to prevent the rousing of suspicion and detection. Why the hell did the guy he used to hate (or still hates, Altaïr was confused as fuck at that point) have such a glorious voice? Altaïr wished that Malik was actually singing _for_ him, not just alongside him for fun. He knew it was a wish that would probably be left unfulfilled for the next three and a half eons.

" _I want the freedom and I want the guile_. _I want the freedom and the guile_. _Oh, life tends to come and go, as long as you know_ ," and, ironically, Malik imagined that he was singing this for Altaïr on a date or a commemoration event. He didn't care, he just fantacised how pleasant it would be.

" _I won't share you, no_. _I won't share you_. _I'll see you somewhere, I'll see you sometime, darling_." And the song had finished.

Malik huffed out a breath of air and looked down at his comforter again. He touched his face and it was slightly damp. When he looked up his gaze was immediately seized by Altaïr's piercing eyes. He, too, was perspiring. Their eyes silently swept over each other's face's and body's as they watched each other not in hatred, not in anger, not in woe, but in an intoxicating quiescence. Both took the time to explore each others faces with their eyes, worsening their mutual infatuation with each other. "You sing really good," breathed Altaïr.

Malik snorted. "Wow, look at this. Altaïr complimenting me."

"Except this time I'm not kidding," smirked Altaïr.

"Alright, well thank you for not bashing me," murmured Malik.

Altaïr nodded at that. "Yeah." He watched Malik for a couple of minutes, and vice-versa. Then he smirked. "Hey, Mal, you said something about wanting freedom and 'the guy'," said he, feeling rather adventurous. "Which guy are you referring to?"

Malik's brain processed the fact that Altaïr had called him 'Mal' again. But then he thought it'd be better to correct Altaïr instead. "It's _guile_ , not guy you fucking idiot."

"Oh," said Altaïr, sounding disappointed. "Was this song about a burger or something? Because it sounds like something that people don't want to share." Malik said nothing while Altaïr went on. "Or maybe it has some different kind of meaning? Maybe it's not an object at all; maybe it's a person?"

Malik narrowed his eyes. "Stop acting like I wrote the song. How the hell would I know?"

"You should, since you sang it."

Malik huffed. "You're fucking insufferable, you know that? And I really hope someone sets your guitar on fire."

Altaïr snorts. "I'm pretty sure that person would be you."

Malik glowers at him and hopes that he somehow seems convincing, as his anger was artificial. "I will not hesitate to, either." Malik noted the faint smirk threatening to incept on Altaïr's face, and he launched himself and latched his lips against the other's hoping that it'd result in a premature demise. He didn't even think the entire thing out beforehand; how Altaïr would react, the awkwardness that was destined to emanate, or whether Altaïr would actually smack his guitar against Malik's head.

Perhaps this was how improvising felt like.

Though it felt surprisingly good. Terribly good. Amazingly good. Painstakingly good. It felt genuine, like they were actually a couple. Malik almost fooled himself into thinking that he was dating Altaïr. Because why wouldn't he be if the other had his fingers biting into his hair and kissing back with an intense amount of fervour?

It was much too surreal. Malik had to clutch onto Altaïr's back in fear of falling into an endless abyss of denial, in fear of it all being one bittersweet dream fit to become the plot line of the next box-office hit.

Except those ebony flecks dotting his vision felt very much real. Their dependency on Oxygen forced them to extricate from each other's body's. Altaïr's hands fell from Malik's hair, and Malik's hands withdrew themselves from Altaïr's back. Both pined for each other's heat, but their lips were sealed shut. It was like that kiss had sucked out all the energy out of their soul, and had temporarily disabled their vocal chords.

Altaïr looked at Malik with a yearning look in his eyes, a thirst never satisfied despite the infinite amounts of water he was imparted with. That moment had drained him of any shame or doubt he may have had before. "I've wanted to do that for a really long time," Altaïr quietly admitted.

Malik looked at Altaïr and nearly fell apart from the hankering look burning within his eyes. Should he be honest and admit the truth as well? Malik thought that Altaïr was playing a terrible joke on him, but when he saw Altaïr's eyes he knew it was anything but bullshit. "I also... Me, too," Malik veraciously responded. Altaïr had the strangest expression on his face after he said that, or maybe Malik was bad at telling expressions apart.

Malik sighed. "Why do you think I like _The Smiths_ so much? Apart from the awesome guitar and vocals, I can at least connect with their lyrics. I have their lyrics to relate to whenever I think of you and your stupid-ass face." He looked down and wearily pressed his palm against his face. Malik was unsure how Altaïr was reacting to his confession since he was looking down and his palm was purposely obstructing his view.

He heard the bed shift ever so slightly. Altaïr took a slight breath in. "Well, if that's true then why do you think I play the guitar so often?" Altaïr didn't wait for Malik to answer the question; he answered it himself. "I play it so often because other than the fact that I've been playing it for as long as I can remember, it's the only way I can get the chance to see your face. Even if your face is red with anger. I play to relieve tension and to relax, but I also play to be able to hear your voice, even though you're calling me out like my fourth grade teacher. But it's worth it, because it's still your voice."

Malik went rigid and slowly removed the palm resting atop his face. He watched how Altaïr had a tiny, reserved smile on his face, a genuine smile. He felt his chest lighten up and his head throbbed slightly due in fact to the amount of information he was forced to process. But it was a good throb, Malik liked it. He used to think that the phrase "butterflies in one's stomach" was creepy and weird as fuck, because who would have butterflies in their stomach? And how would they know how it feels? But Malik finally had an understanding of how it felt. It was pleasant.

He let out a shaky laugh. He knew this hypnagogic bliss truly was reality, and it made him feel as though he were solely composed of rainbows, sunshine, and twelve tons of sugar. "I was only thinking of you when I sang that song by _The Smiths_ ," confessed Malik. He would have snorted, but he felt that it did not match the mood, which was currently somewhere along the lines of "Nicholas Sparks book" on a scale from "completely unromantic" to "eating dinner in the middle of the evening with a rose in the middle of the table while an orchestral band plays cheesy lovey-dovey music and while watching the star-speckled sky with your loved one and then strolling in the park after eating at that really fancy restaurant and then laughing and smiling the entire way, proposing while your new fiancé(e) cries like they just finished watching some corny movie like _Titanic_ , soon getting married, settling down and having kids complete with the barbecues and picnics, getting old and finding out that one of you had a terminal illness, and then eventually dying together with smiles on your faces and your hands holding onto each other like it was your first date".

"And you were the only thing on my mind when I was playing," Altaïr acknowledged with the slightest of grins. Malik smiled lightly at that, rubbing the side of his face. "Fuck, this feels like one big, cheesy-ass romance movie," laughs Malik. Altaïr chuckles as well and leans over to gently remove Malik's hand from his face only to peck him on the lips. "If it feels like one, might as well let it be one," Altaïr mumbles.

Malik's brows furrow. "But we aren't even—"

"Yes we are. As of now, we are," Altaïr interrupts. Malik looks at Altaïr with surprise in his eyes. "Wow, really?" he replies with sarcastic interest, "Why, then?"

"Because I said so. Case closed."

Malik tuts. "So arrogant. It's a good thing I concur, else I'd contemplate moving."

Altaïr looked amused. "I bet you wouldn't," he grins. Malik rolls his eyes and leans over to kiss him. He then pulls away to murmur against Altaïr's lips, "Like you can read my mind."

"I can try," grins Altaïr and Malik realises that he had never seen Altaïr smile or grin so much in _one day_. The amount of times he'd displayed his happiness greatly surpassed his monthly average. "Besides, you wanted 'the freedom and the guy'. I'm more than willing to... liberate you," Altaïr suggests with a lewd smirk, referencing the song which had pleasantly filled the air not too long ago. Malik looks at Altaïr for a moment before exploding in a paroxysm of laughter. "Fuck, that was just terrible. You're so cheesy it's not even funny," Malik manages to make known. He continues to laugh, Altaïr crossing his arms and pouting childishly at Malik. If it wasn't even funny, then why was he laughing?

When Malik finally regulates his breathing and heartbeat he adds, "And it's ' _the freedom and the guile_ ', not ' _the freedom and the guy_ '." Altaïr continues to look at Malik. "Though I do accept your proposition," Malik smirks, "Regardless of the fact that your offer was proposed in a terribly soppy manner."

Altaïr embraces Malik and he briefly thought that he was reenacting a scene from that one cliché part of every Western movie where the two main characters or love interests hugged each other and made out right before shagging each other. It'd have been accurate, except that he wasn't in any movie.

Altaïr cants his head to lick Malik's cheek. He reflexively shivers hithertofore a kiss is planted by Altaïr onto the same region that was licked previously. Malik slowly trails his hands down from Altaïr's back, eventually finding the hem of his shirt and sliding his hand beneath the cloth. He relocates his hands within Altaïr's shirt, caressing the warm skin as Altaïr encases his arms around Malik's waist.

" _I won't share you_ ," Altaïr quotes. Malik grins and, yeah, he never should have introduced Altaïr to _The Smiths_.

Altaïr's quotes are stupid as hell (because even though they're all from _The Smiths_ , he just manages to somehow make them sound stupid, idiotic, and corny at the same time. The guy has a fucking gift), but Malik was willing to make an exception. He brushes his lips against Altaïr's and smirks playfully. " _You handsome devil_."

Altaïr chuckles, though it sounds more diabolical than anything. Mayhaps the song was accurate.

" _Let me get your head on the conjugal bed_ ," Altaïr says with a feral grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I didn't know how Malik's voice would sound when he sang. I suppose it's completely up to you to imagine how he sounds.


End file.
